


See the World Hanging Upside Down

by SomewhereApart



Series: OQHappyEndings2018 [1]
Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Bandit Evil Queen | Regina Mills, Bandit Evil Queen | Regina Mills/Robin Hood, F/M, OQHappyEndingWeek, trapped together
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-09
Updated: 2018-07-09
Packaged: 2019-06-07 16:46:50
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,097
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15223448
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SomewhereApart/pseuds/SomewhereApart
Summary: When Bandit OQ are trapped in a cave waiting out the Queen's patrol, they find a new way to keep warm. For OQ Happy Ending week, Day 1 (Monday)





	See the World Hanging Upside Down

They’ve been holed up together for three days now, and Regina is beginning to think perhaps she’s going insane from hunger. Thirst hasn’t been an issue, thankfully – the snow that’s built up around the mouth of the cave she and Robin Hood have hidden themselves away in provides a handy (if chilly) way to wet their whistles. In the worst of the blizzard, she’d snuck over and pressed herself tightly to the wall, out of sight of the Black Guard patrolling the paths below, and crammed as much snow as she could manage into each of their wineskins. 

So dehydration can’t be the cause of her addled mind. Which leaves hunger. The snow keeps them from dying of thirst, but they’ve been subsisting on a few nuts each per day to ration out the sparse handful Robin just happened to have in his pocket when they’d gotten tangled up in each other’s attempts at the same heist (his fault they’d gotten caught; his fault _entirely_ ). Her stomach is hollow and growling, and she’s beginning to wonder if maybe she’d be better off just having more of the nuts in one go, once a day. It’s not as if she’s never gone a day on a single meal—she’s done that plenty. 

She’s also gone longer than this without food, but acknowledging that right now pokes a hole in her the-hunger-made-me-do-it theory, so acknowledge it she will not. 

It has to be the hunger, because why else would she find this arrogant, irritating man so convincing. 

He’s a pain in her ass, a thorn in her side, and the last few nights, a surprisingly warm bedfellow. She’d protested it at first—sleeping together like they’ve been—but he’d won her over with logic: it’s simply far too cold on this blustery hilltop not to. 

The cave walls protect them from the harsher slaps of wind, but it’s still drafty and frigid. A fire’s smoke would give away their hidey hole, so they can’t do anything for warmth but spend their days and nights curled together beneath his cloak, sharing the warmth of their collective leathers and furs.

Tonight, it’s particularly bitter, and he’s just suggested something ludicrous and… tempting. 

“I promise, milady, my intentions are entirely honorable,” Robin tells her, and Regina scoffs and rolls her eyes, but it lacks her usual heat (she blames the pervasive cold).

“I’m not a lady,” she reminds him. “And I’m not going to be tricked into taking my shirt off for you.”

“Not your shirt,” he insists, “just your furs. I’ll put my leather beneath us, we’ll drape your furs over us beneath the cloak. We’ll stay warmer if we can share our body heat more directly.”

She lifts one brow, a low howl of wind making its way into the cave and chasing a shiver through her as she asks, “Does this line usually work on the girls you court?”

“I assure you, I haven’t courted anyone in quite some time, and never by spending several days and nights starving to death in a cave with her,” he retorts, just enough moon reflecting off the snow-covered ground outside and into their little seclusion for her to make out his smirk.

She rolls her eyes, and then the wind blows again, raising goosebumps on her arms; Regina bites her lip and considers.

It wouldn’t be so bad, really. They’d both keep their shirts on, two thin layers of linen between them for modesty, and it’s dark enough in here that she supposes he won’t be able to make out the dark peaks of her nipples beneath her threadbare shirt. She can insist he allow her modesty when the sun is up again, and charming jerk that he is, he’ll probably even respect her wishes. 

So Regina relents and sits up more fully from where they’ve been huddled against the cave wall together, her chilly fingers reaching for the fastenings of her vest. Robin Hood does the same, sitting up and untying the leather around his torso, shrugging out of it and spreading it over the stone floor beside them. The moment Regina slips out of her furs, the cold worms in deeper, tightening her nipples to icy points and raising gooseflesh all along her skin. 

She shivers as she watches Robin lay down, his torso over the upturned leather (it’s fur-lined, too, she notices, though not nearly as thick as her own). He urges, “Hand me that,” and she reluctantly passes over her fur vest before she lays herself down alongside him, her back to his front. He arranges her vest atop them, and his cloak over that, then burrows down beneath them both and wraps his arms around her middle the way he has the last two nights.

His hands are icy, one settling high on her belly and making her hiss. But the fur above and beneath them is more welcoming than the bare stone had been the two nights prior (not that she’ll ever admit that to him), and it doesn’t take long before she can feel the heat of his body soaking through to her back.

He’d been right. This is warmer.

Her legs are still chilly, even though she presses them snugly against his, her rear nestling tightly into the cradle of his hips and thighs. But her middle is growing warmer by the minute, and it’s not long before she finds herself dozing comfortably, his breath warm against her hair, his chest warm against her back.

**.::.**

She wakes some time later and isn’t sure why. The night has gone quiet and still, the wind abated, although it’s still dreadfully cold. She’s glad for the extra body heat, sighing softly, shifting just a little, and shutting her eyes again in the hope of sleep.

It’s that sigh and shift that have her realizing what woke her.

There’s a hand cupping her breast and a very telling protuberance making itself known against her backside.

Well then.

She feels herself flush, growing even warmer in their little cocoon, and tries to decide what to do. She should get angry. Should yell and protest, elbow him in the ribs and put as much distance between them as possible.

But she’s cold and clearly delirious with hunger, and his hand has warmed beneath their covers. It feels… nice, to be honest. He’s not demanding anything of her—in fact, she’s fairly certain he’s still asleep. His fingers have simply moulded themselves comfortably around the small curve beneath thin linen and come to rest. She’s heard tell that men have no control over their cocks when they’re sleeping, so his erection is probably a perfectly reasonable reaction to a midnight boob grab. A biological imperative. It would be unkind to judge him for what he does in his sleep, wouldn’t it?

His thumb moves then, rubs over and back across her nipple, igniting a little spark of pleasure like flint on rock. He doesn’t move again, and it fizzles out. 

But she’s wide awake now, and hunger-addled of course, which is the only reason that she gives her rear end a little wiggle against his erection.

Robin sighs deeply; his thumb moves again. 

Regina bites her lip. 

She should not do this. She should eat more nuts. She should… she should fall back asleep is what she should do, and never speak of this again.

Instead, she sighs deeply, her breast filling his palm more fully, her back arching slightly as she does. Robin shifts behind her ever so slightly, his cock grinding into her rear, his fingers pulsing against her breast, his lips smacking quietly before he settles again.

She should not want him to wake. She shouldn’t. When he wakes, this will all end and she _likes_ this. Robin is not the only one who hasn’t been courted lately, and it’s certainly the hunger speaking, but the prospect of being touched in a way that isn’t for protection, a meal, or a roof over her head is oddly alluring. 

She wonders what it would be like to lie with a man simply because she wants to, not because she needs something. 

She wonders what it would be like to lie with Robin Hood. 

She wiggles again. 

He wakes this time—she can tell the instant he does, because he goes stiff behind her, lets out this quiet noise like a little grunt or a subtle clearing of throat, and then his hand starts to slide away from her breast. 

Regina steals up the courage to whisper into the dark, “It’s alright where it was.”

“Mm?” he hums, and she licks her lips and swallows nervously.

“Your hand,” she breathes. “You can... leave it if you like.”

It sinks back more fully against her, cups her lightly once again, but Robin still asks, “‘M I ‘wake?”

Regina snorts quietly and asks, “Do you often dream of groping me?”

He swallows and rasps, “Yes, actually,” throwing her for a loop.

Regina lets out a tiny “oh.” He may be irritatingly handsome, but she’s… just herself. She’s never imagined herself for the kind of woman that men dream of touching. That she might be to Robin Hood has her feeling quite… silly. And also rather… warm. And appreciative.

It must also have her feeling rather bold, because she clears her throat softly and whispers into the dark, “How so?”

“Hmm?”

God, he’s obtuse. 

And she’s not that bold, it turns out because her cheeks are flushing, and she’s murmuring, “Nevermind,” but his hand doesn’t leave her breast. Instead she feels it twitch slightly and then shift, his fingers spreading a little and then closing again, a tender, tentative knead that has her lips parting, her tongue creeping out to dampen them.

She doesn’t protest, but doesn’t encourage.

Until he does it again a nearly full minute later.

Then she breathes in deeply, and presses her hips back against his again, murmuring quietly, “It’s important that we stay warm…”

Robin’s chest shakes softly against her back, his breath warm in her hair as he murmurs, “So it is. Does that mean you wish me not to stop?”

“It’s nice to be touched…”

“Are _you_ awake, milady?” he teases, and her cheeks flush with embarrassment. 

“Very much so. Your hard-on prodded me from my nap.”

“Sorry,” he murmurs, pulling his hips back a little and simultaneously pressing his lips to her shoulder for a brief kiss. It’s the kiss more than the cold that makes her shiver, she thinks, but she chases his hips with hers and murmurs something about him robbing her of much needed warmth. 

Robin molds himself to her again, his arm tightening to pull her more snugly against him. 

“I thought it bothered you.”

“No... Just woke me. And led my mind down a scandalous garden path.”

Robin snickers at that and tightens his hold on her, grinds his stiff cock more soundly against her backside and teases, “Oh, did it?”

“Mm. It’s been some time since I’ve been with a man. Even longer since it was for desire and not... lodging, or to barter freedom from capture, or a hot meal when I didn’t have the coin.”

He’s quiet for a moment and then says, “You shouldn’t have to trade your body for those things.”

“It’s alright.”

“Stay with my men. The Queen’s guards have surely found your log anyway—“

“No thanks to you,” she points out, but he only keeps speaking. 

“And you’ll have protection and a tent over your head. Food in your belly.”

“And somewhere for you and your men to stick your cocks in from time to time?” she wonders with an accusing air. In her experience, lodging with men never comes entirely free. 

“I just told you that’s not a fair trade, not in my mind. And my men are good, decent fellows. They’ll not bother you.”

“I work alone.”

“But you needn’t. Join my company. I’d like to get to know you better.”

“I very much doubt that.”

“Regina, I’ve spent nearly three days now stuck in this hole with you, and it’s the best time I’ve had in weeks. I quite like you, you know.”

He’s not as stiff as he once was, his cock’s gone half-soft while they’ve been talking. So she presses against him again and teases, “Only when you’re asleep, it seems.”

Robin chuckles, gives her breast a squeeze and says, “I assure you that’s not the case, milady.”

She turns then, rolls onto her back and tilts her face toward his in the dark. “Can I consider your offer?”

“I wish you would,” he tells her warmly, and he’s closer now, somehow, his breath washing her cheek as he speaks. 

She screws up the courage to ask, “Will you lie with me tonight? While I mull it over?”

She doesn’t expect his sigh of regret. “I think it’s rather too cold to remove our breeches. But…”

His hand moves southward, leaving her breast and coasting down her belly until it tucks itself boldly between her thighs and gives a firm rub that sparks everything inside her to flame. She gasps softly and feels his lips hovering against hers; she closes her mouth in a kiss as he gives another slow, intimate rub. 

“I think,” he murmurs before another soft kiss, “that we could find a way to keep our warmth and satisfy our desires. If it would please milady.”

“It would, very much,” she gasps, already panting lightly in anticipation. 

His mouth is on her again in an instant. 

They kiss and kiss, and it’s heady and thrilling. Almost better than the way he touches her, because touch she’s had, but these desirous kisses are something new. Breeches don’t come off, but they do fall open, their laces falling prey to anxious fumbling fingers until they’re both touching intimately. He’s found a warm, damp place to tuck his away, making her gasp and sigh as her own hands wrap around the thick length of him. 

She’s had men his size before and not enjoyed it, but with the spot he’s just found and the way it makes her legs go jelly-like with pleasure, she thinks she might enjoy Robin Hood. She’s never been so slick and hot, so dizzyingly distracted by pleasure. 

She blames the hunger, right up until the moment he delves deeper and a finger dips inside her and crooks just so. Her own fall slack around him as she strangles an eager moan, her jaw dropping. 

He keeps it up, one finger hooked perfectly, his palm against her, stirring her to bliss, and soon her legs are quaking, her breath labored, her hand working him only absently as she feels the pressure build and build between her thighs. 

She gasps his name into the dark, and he lets loose a low groan and then a whispered, “Gods above, I want you so desperately.”

That makes two of them, and she’s _plenty_ warm now, so she does a foolish thing and reaches down. Pushes his hand away, out, and rolls until her back is to him again before wriggling her breeches down to her thighs and inviting, “Then have me. Please.”

He asks if she’s certain, and she wants to laugh. She’s never been _more_ certain. 

His chivalrous hesitation is short lived, though, and soon enough she feels his seeking cock. She reaches down to help guide him home, and it turns out she’s right—when he presses into her, filling her up, she feels nothing but a deep, throbbing pleasure. 

His first few thrusts are slow and cautious, his breath heavy in her hair, but then he picks up pace, faster, faster, until both of them are muffling themselves to keep from crying out as their hips collide again and again. 

It wouldn’t do to give themselves away and die before they can finish. 

Not when it feels this good, and not when his hand has found her breast again, his fingers plucking, squeezing, rolling in a way that makes her turn and bite against the arm he has tucked beneath her head. 

It’s enough, all she needs, and in a moment she’s crying out into his forearm as everything inside her seizes blissfully. He moans into her hair and fucks her harder, deeper, better for a few firm thrusts and then he’s gone from her. 

He pulls out of her with a groan and half turns away, and she feels suddenly bereft and lonely and a bit confused—until she hears his groan of completion a second later and realizes he’d only been being considerate. 

She smirks a little at the sound and the heavy panting that follows, reaching down and tugging her breeches back up, but not bothering yet with the laces. Instead she rolls and curls tentatively against his chest, flushing with a warmth born of something other than physical pleasure when he scoops an arm around her shoulder and holds her close against him, his free arm adjusting their furs and cape to cocoon them once again. 

They don’t speak, and she thinks she likes that, because it’s always awkward after. She’s perfectly fine with the silence of the night and the whoosh of their labored breathing as it settles and his soft kisses around her hairline. 

She can still feel the echoes of pleasure in her bones when she slips into slumber. 

**.::.**

She wakes wondering if it had been a dream, Robin curled around her back again—a shift she has no recollection of. But his hand is cupping her breast again, his thumb rubbing idly back and force across it, his fingers kneading her lazily, and when she sighs and opens her eyes, he greets her with a raspy, “Good morning, lovely.”

Regina smiles. Definitely not a dream. 

She murmurs a good morning of her own and sighs, eyes dropping shut as she enjoys his touch. 

“You know…” he speaks softly, cups one breast and then the other in turn, “I think I neglected these in our haste last night.”

“A terrible oversight,” she snickers. “One you’ll have to rectify when we return to your camp.”

He stills, his voice full of hope as he says, “You’ll come, then?”

Regina turns, takes in his features in the soft light of morning, and nods. “I’m tired of being hungry and alone…”

Her arm winds around his middle, their legs tangle, and she adds, “And I’d like to get to know you too, Robin Hood.”

They lose themselves then, in kisses and soft touches, and neither ever finds themselves lonely again. 


End file.
